


Comorbidity

by wordbending



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Canon-Typical Violence, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Other, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23418664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordbending/pseuds/wordbending
Summary: He wanted to leave. He wanted nothing more than to get up, walk out, and never look back. He’d explain it to Frisk, to Chara, to his mother even - that he just couldn’t do this. He wasn’tstrong enoughto do this, he’d never bestrong enoughto do this, because that’s what he was, weak and pathetic and fragile like a wilted flower...“Asriel?”He looked up from where he had been staring at his upper legs and noticed for the first time that he’d been digging his claws into them, leaving tiny holes in his pants legs. It took a moment to compose himself, just a moment, before he looked towards the person who was presumably his therapist and smiled at her.-----Asriel, Chara, and Frisk attend therapy.
Relationships: Chara/Asriel Dreemurr, Chara/Asriel Dreemurr/Frisk
Comments: 16
Kudos: 63





	Comorbidity

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for: suicidal ideation, talk about depression and other mental health issues, violent thoughts, talk about severe familial abuse and neglect including starvation and physical abuse, and unhealthy codependent relationships.

He wanted to leave. He wanted nothing more than to get up, walk out, and never look back. He’d explain it to Frisk, to Chara, to his mother even - that he just couldn’t do this. He wasn’t _strong enough_ to do this, he’d never be _strong enough_ to do this, because that’s what he was, weak and pathetic and fragile like a wilted flower...

“Asriel?”

He looked up from where he had been staring at his upper legs and noticed for the first time that he’d been digging his claws into them, leaving tiny holes in his pants legs. It took a moment to compose himself, just a moment, before he looked towards the person who was presumably his therapist and smiled at her.

She was a human, so he hated her already. They couldn’t find him a therapist of his own species, at least? So much for the “best possible care money can buy.”

“Howdy, that’s me,” he said to her, with a laugh. “Asriel. Asriel Dreemurr.”

God, she knew his name, of course. He didn’t need to say it. He was so _awkward._

“Dr. Rivers, but you can call me Patricia. Come this way,” she said, returning his smile. Nodding, he stood up and slowly followed her, sticking his paws in his pants pockets so he wouldn’t pick at the threads of his hoodie. He said nothing to her as she walked down hallway after hallway, but she said plenty to him.

“Nice day, isn’t it? We try to keep it cool in here, but I hope it’s not too hot in that hoodie...”

“Sorry the office is so far away. They never make things convenient for us, huh?”

“Asriel, was it? That’s a nice name. Can I ask where it’s from?”

He answered largely non committal answers - “no,” “I guess not,” “my parents” - until they at last arrived at the office. It was smaller than he expected, the walls an off-white and decorated with pictures of what he assumed were the therapist’s children. Various posters full of feel-good nonsense in Impact font were placed next to advertisements for human-monster species non-profits and much more awful ones for autism that no therapist should have.

This was going to be hell.

He sat down on the obligatory couch, a cheap black one stuffed next to a wall. He didn’t want to sit in the chair next to the therapist. He preferred some distance between them.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she said, “I know it’s not much, but we do what we can.” He watched, claws finding themselves in their natural sitting position on his legs again, as she sifted through his folder. “Let me see here... your file’s not very large, but that makes sense. This is your first time with a therapist, correct?”

He nodded slowly, then realized she wasn’t looking his direction. “T-that’s right.”

She turned her chair to face him then and smiled again. He smiled back, very awkwardly and very insincerely - he was starting to really dislike this therapist smiling at him.

“Well, you’re in good hands, I promise,” she said. “At least, I’d like to think that after a Master’s degree and twelve years at my position, that I’d be _pretty_ good at my job.”

She surely meant it as a joke to reassure him, Asriel thought, but it just made him dislike her more. He couldn’t help but view it as arrogance - worse, _unearned_ arrogance.

“Now let’s talk about the reasons you’re here,” she said, more seriously. “I have them here, but do you want to tell me about them? What’s most critical to you right now?”

Immediately, a million things sprung to mind, bouncing around like marbles falling down a staircase.

_I think about hurting myself._

_I think about hurting others._

_I’m in love with my best friends, one of whom used to be dead, and the other of whom saved me from resetting the universe, and I don’t know how I really feel about either of them._

_I think about hurting both of them, but I think I’d kill myself first._

_My brain is broken._

_I’m broken._

Asriel shut his eyes tightly and tried to focus his thoughts.

“I... I’m...” he said, flexing his paws. “I’m...” What was that phrase his mother had used? Ah, right. “I’m severely depressed.”

“Mmm,” said the therapist. “You reported feelings of depression, that’s right. Now, I have to start by asking... any suicidal thoughts?”

He breathed in. Here it goes. _This is what you came for, Asriel,_ he thought.

“Yes.”

“Homicidal thoughts?”

His breath caught. “Yes.”

“Do you have a plan?”

He looked up again, into the therapist’s clear, calm eyes. His own felt unfocused, and his breathing was tight, uneven.

“What?”

“A plan to act on those impulses,” the therapist said patiently. “Are they targeted at any specific person, including yourself? Do you know how you’d carry out those thoughts?”

 _Yes,_ his brain provided, truthfully.

 _No,_ his brain also provided, equally truthfully.

Did he trust her enough to tell her the truth, as complicated as it was? Of course not.

“No,” he said, slowly, flatly. “It’s nothing like that.”

“I see,” she replied. “What is it like?”

_A mess._

Maybe he could tell her a half-truth.

“It’s... like...” he said slowly, thinking out every word. “There’s... another... another part of me? Like I’m fighting with myself not to do these... awful things.”

There. True, but not the whole truth.

The truth was there was _literally_ another part of him. The part of him that wanted to kill and destroy and hurt and _die_ was real. And everything it wanted to do? That was real too.

“We all have separate parts of ourselves, Asriel,” she said. “All my clients do. I do too. Some people have a child part of themselves, some people have parts that exist to protect them from trauma, some people have unique parts because they need a way to process different aspects of themselves.”

“It’s not the same,” he blurted out, annoyed at the suggestion that anyone felt the same way he did, much less that _she,_ a human, a normal person, felt the same way he did.

“Why not?”

He laughed sharply.

“Do you know what I’ve _been through?_ I don’t have... I don’t have this because of some _trauma,_ I have this because _I died,_ I un _died,_ and I became a _murderer._ This is _real!”_

The therapist blinked, and Asriel couldn’t help but feel a little smug. He bet all her Master’s classes didn’t teach her about _that._

“That sounds like trauma to me,” she said after a moment. “I mean, if that’s not trauma, what even is, right?”

Asriel opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“Trauma is trauma,” she continued. “You want to tell me more about yours?”

“No,” Asriel responded instantly, and then he sighed and leaned back against the wall. He could hear his mother’s voice in his head, smiling at him and telling him to try his best, and he stared up at the ceiling and muttered, “I guess.”

“Start from the beginning. How’d you die?”

* * *

“Chara?”

Chara stared at their therapist the way one - or at least a _normal_ someone - might look at a roach. But they obeyed the unspoken command and got up from their seat.

“Wow, lay off the haterade,” the therapist said as Chara approached, grinning with many, many sharp teeth. “I’m Dr. Shallot, but you can call me Shallot-sama!” A wider grin. “Or don’t, I guess!”

“Mmm,” said Chara nonchalantly. They added, “You know, I’m friends with another fish monster.”

“Oh yeah?” said the therapist, walking down the hallway. “They part shark too?”

“It’s distinctly possible,” Chara admitted, not actually sure. “She’s got the teeth for it.”

The therapist laughed, walking quickly down the hallway, greeting people in their offices as he passed them. Chara was already starting to dislike him. Undyne was cool, but they only needed one Undyne in their life. Were all fish monsters like this...?

“Here’s my office,” said the therapist, taking a seat at his desk. It was a small office, Chara thought, with beige walls and very few decorations... besides, disturbingly, the massive set of shark teeth hanging from the wall. “Don’t mind the shark teeth. Grew ‘em myself.”

“Gross,” Chara said, taking a seat in a chair next to the therapist’s desk.

“Flaunt ‘em if you had ‘em, I always say,” said the therapist, before taking a folder off his desk and spinning around in his seat to face Chara. “Now, your file... you put ‘Android’ under species? More of an Apple guy, myself.”

“I’m not human anymore,” Chara said with a shrug. “Used to be. Then I died. My sort-of-boyfriend died too, and now he’s the same as me. An android, I mean. It’s a long story.”

“Aren’t you a bit young for a sort-of-boyfriend?” said the therapist, and Chara imagined he’d be raising an eyebrow if he had one. “Ah, right. Says here in your file you’re a thousand years old. That’s mighty impressive. How long were you dead?”

“Just about nine-hundred and eighty-five years of it. And you know what the best part is?” Chara replied, with a smile. “Being conscious for all of it.”

The therapist whistled.

“Now, it’s a cliche, but I’ve got to ask... how does that make you feel?”

“Shitty.”

“Mmmhmm,” said the therapist with a nod. “I imagine. But ‘shitty’ isn’t a diagnosis. There’s a reason you’re here today.”

“Oh, no, there’s not,” Chara said, as seriously as they could manage. “My sort-of-boyfriend’s mother and my sort-of-datefriend just think I need therapy. They’ve both been pushing me to get it. But you’re right, being shitty _isn’t_ a diagnosis. And that’s good, because I don’t need one, because I’m fine. Seriously.” They smiled widely, reaching up to their cheeks to pull their smile apart even further. “Can’t you see my face? Fine.”

“If by fine, you mean extremely unsettling, sure,” said the therapist, with another grin. “But, Chara, for what it’s worth... there’s nothing wrong with...”

“There’s nothing wrong with therapy, _I know,”_ said Chara, leaning back against the seat and rolling their eyes as hard as they could.

“Ah, no. I was going to say there’s nothing wrong with being mentally ill. Most people are. More people than you think. You don’t have to act like you’re fine on my account.” The therapist’s smile softened. “I mean, I’m a monster. I think I have a good idea what happened to you. You think I haven’t heard that story my whole life?”

Chara blinked.

“Half that story is wrong,” they said after a moment. “ _At least.”_

“Then why don’t you tell me the truth? I’d love nothing more than to hear it from the Aaron’s mouth, so to speak. I’m all ears - at least for an hour.”

Chara thought for a moment. And then, they opened their mouth.

“...I fucked up.”

* * *

Frisk said nothing as their therapist greeted them, and said nothing as they walked to the office behind them, but it’d be more unusual for them if they did say anything, so that wasn’t out of the ordinary.

They took a seat in the office, a bright blue and highly decorated office for child psychologists, the type of office they’d heard of before but never actually been to, as if it was as much of a myth as “parents that wanted you” and “not starving.” There were children’s toys and books and very small chairs.

Frisk knew they were the youngest between themselves, Chara, and Asriel, but they still felt like they didn’t belong here. And that was just one reason.

The therapist, human, dark skinned, about Undyne’s age, and non-binary (that part being what Frisk had specifically requested), took Frisk’s hand and led them to one of the very small chairs. The therapist then took a seat in front of Frisk, crosslegged on the floor so they were closer to their height.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Frisk,” they said with a slightly crooked smile. “I’m Dr. Ortiz, but my name is Ori. Ori Ortiz. I’ve heard a lot about you. Well, just about everyone has. But you don’t need to worry - in here, you’ll be treated just like everyone else, so just be yourself.”

Frisk nodded slowly. Perhaps it was the chair, but they felt very small.

“Ah, that’s right. Selective mutism,” said the therapist thoughtfully, and Frisk felt even smaller hearing their condition described so clinically. “Is there any way I can help? Do you want a tablet, or a notebook?”

Frisk shook their head. Those things never helped them. It wasn’t like it was a matter of their voice not working. It was their _brain_ that didn’t work.

“Well, feel free to do anything that helps you feel more comfortable,” the therapist suggested. “These toys and books are for you, if that will make things easier.”

Frisk shook their head again. What would make things easier is if they could leave, they thought. Everything about this felt... uncomfortable. Fake. They really _didn’t_ belong here.

“Would it be easier if I used sign?” the therapist asked. “You can use it as well, if you wish.”

Frisk nodded. That would at least be easier than trying to have counselling using nothing but head gestures.

 _So, Frisk,_ the therapist signed, smiling that still-crooked smile. _That’s a beautiful name. How did you come up with it?_

Oh. That... wasn’t the way they were expecting this conversation to go.

 _I didn’t,_ they signed back.

_Is that so? Who came up with it then?_

_Asriel._

_“Goat boy”? Ah, I see. A friend of yours?_

Another nod.

_He gave you your name?_

_On accident. He said my... old name wrong. I liked Frisk better._ Frisk blushed at the memory. _It felt... right._

The therapist smiled again. _I know how that is. When I chose to call myself Ori, it felt... freeing. You know what it comes from, don’t you? Origami. I’ve always loved origami. Have you ever done any?_

Frisk shook their head.

_Well, why don’t we do a few, and you answer a few questions for me? How does that sound?_

Slowly, unsurely, Frisk nodded.

* * *

The more Asriel talked, the angrier he felt. The angrier he felt, the more he found himself digging his claws into the soft flesh of his paw pads, drawing dust from them. The more he hurt himself, the more he wanted to hurt _this therapist,_ who was so stupid, so _ignorant,_ so _useless._ He wanted to leap across the room and slash her throat.

“Asriel,” she said, shaking him out of his thoughts for just a brief moment. “Were you listening?”

“Oh, no,” he said, breathing out slowly. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” she said. “I asked: what was your relationship like with Chara? You were raised together... they were like a sibling to you then?”

Asriel shut his eyes tightly and tried not to beat his head against the nearest object.

“ _No,”_ he said sharply. “I was... it was... complicated.”

“It sounds like it,” she replied. “What were they to you?”

_The greatest person._

_The worst person._

_The only person I ever truly loved._

“I don’t _know_ ,” he said, rubbing his paws down his face. “It was stupid. I was stupid. I thought... I thought they were _everything._ I was _obsessed._ They were so... they were so _miserable,_ and I thought I could make them _better,_ and so I would do _anything_ for them. I would _die_ for them. I _did die for them._ ” He looked up into the therapist’s eyes, surprised to find tears starting at the corners of his own, and he continued, in a quieter voice, “Do you know what that’s like?”

“You were in love,” she said.

“Yeah,” Asriel admitted at last. “I was. And I was a fucking _idiot.”_

“You were a child, Asriel,” the therapist said softly. “And a child in love. That doesn’t make you an idiot.”

“It does when you’re in love with _Chara,”_ said Asriel. “They... they were... a terrible person.”

“Why is that? Did you always feel that way about them?”

“No, I... I didn’t,” Asriel said, absentmindedly reaching up and wiping at his eye. “But they... they hurt people. They wanted to kill people. And they hurt me too.” He swallowed, finding it suddenly harder to breathe. It _was_ hot in this hoodie, but he refused to take it off. “They... they took advantage of me. They manipulated me, to go along with their stupid plan. They wanted to do anything to free monsters, even if it meant forcing me to... to kill humans.”

“I see.”

“ _I see?”_ snapped Asriel. “That’s all you have to say? I’ve never said that about Chara before! I’m supposed to still be all” - he adopted a falsetto - “‘oh, Chara, I love you so much, you’re such a good person, you’d never hurt a Whimsun,’ and I just, fucking, _can’t!_ Not when it’s a _lie!_ Not when Frisk is _right there!”_

The therapist adjusted her glasses before raising both hands defensively. “I meant no offense, Asriel. I understand your frustration, but please try not to take it out on me.”

Asriel let out a breath, trying to tell himself to stay calm. To not let the Flowey part of himself win, like it had so many times.

“S-sorry.”

“Thank you. Now, you said ‘Frisk is right there’... what did you mean by that?”

“It’s because... Frisk is a _good person,”_ he said sincerely, and just thinking about them made him feel better. “Frisk really wouldn’t hurt anyone. I know that, because they never have. Even when people wanted to hurt them, even when they could die, even when they had no other choice, they never hurt anyone. They’re kind, even to the worst people, even to people who... deserve it.”

The therapist nodded.

“You admire them?”

“So much.”

* * *

“You see now, don’t you?” Chara said, still smiling. There were tears in their eyes now, which made them want, more than anything, one of their knives to play with, so they could calm down. Or at least a chocolate bar. “I’m a demon. The devil themself.”

“Nah,” said the therapist, picking at his teeth with a hand.

“Seriously?” said Chara with a scoff. “All that and that’s all you have to say?”

The therapist leaned forward and smiled. “Nobody’s a demon, much less the devil. That kind of self-talk’s not going to get you anywhere.”

“It’s the _truth._ I toyed with Asriel’s feelings. I played him like a damn fiddle, and for what? To get him to kill for me? To free monsterkind, so that his species could die, in a massacre, _again?_ That’s what the devil’s famous for, you know. Manipulating people? Starting wars? And playing fiddles, for that matter.”

“Yep. That’s all true. You did some really shitty stuff, it sounds like.”

Chara rolled their eyes again. “Make up your mind.”

“You did some shitty stuff _and_ it doesn’t make you the devil. It makes you, android body or not, a _human._ Hell, monsters have done some pretty shitty stuff too. I don’t have to tell you about Asgore.”

Chara crossed their arms. “No. You don’t.”

“Wanna know what I think?” said the therapist. “That you aren’t the worst thing you’ve ever done. You can grow, and change, and become better. That’s what makes you good or bad. Whether or not you try to improve.”

“Wanna know what I think?” Chara said with a smile. “That’s a load of grade-A bullshit.”

“At least it’s grade-A,” said the therapist with a grin. “But really. Why’s it bullshit? You’re here, now, in therapy. You could have not come. You could have walked away. That, alone, tells me you’re trying to get better.”

“If I walked away, Frisk would never let me hear the end of it.”

“Your sort-of-datefriend, eh? They sound like a good person.”

Chara huffed. “That’s because they _are._ A better person than me. A better person than any of us.”

“Hmm.”

Chara raised an eyebrow. “What’s that ‘hmm’ supposed to mean?”

The therapist half-shrugged. “I just think that’s a bit of a stretch. In my experience, everyone struggles, even if they don’t show it. Nobody’s born good, and nobody’s good without trying to be. And that’s more true for people who are better than anyone than anything.”

“ _They_ don’t have to try.”

“Tell me about them then.”

“Oh, I _will_ ,” Chara said with a savage grin. “How about I start with this...”

* * *

The therapist’s hands gently made the paper origami crane. After every step, they paused, took a step back, and signed an explanation of what they had done, followed by a question. As Frisk thought over their answer, they followed the therapist’s instructions to the letter.

 _And what were your parents like?_ the therapist signed.

Frisk’s shoulders stiffened, and they swallowed reflexively before looking towards the door.

_You don’t have to answer._

Frisk shook their head and turned back towards the therapist. _No,_ they thought. They were here to get help too, just like Asriel and Chara. That meant they needed to answer.

 _They were good people,_ Frisk signed. _I loved them. I miss them._

The therapist nodded, and showed Frisk another step in the origami.

_Where are they now?_

Frisk thought of a bus stop, and a bench, and a sunset, and a mountain.

_They left._

_They left you?_

Frisk nodded.

_Would you say they abandoned you, Frisk?_

Instantly, Frisk shook their head and started to sign.

_No. They wouldn’t. They were good people. They wouldn’t hurt me. They almost never hit me, or grounded me, or yelled at me. They were good people._

_I see. And, Frisk... they provided for you? They gave you a home?_

Hesitantly, Frisk nodded.

_They gave you clothes?_

Frisk nodded.

_They gave you food?_

Frisk nodded.

_Let’s do the next step. We’re almost done._

Again, the therapist showed Frisk how to fold the paper to make the crane. Again, Frisk followed, although more than ever, they dreaded the next question the therapist would ask.

_Frisk, can I say something? It may hurt, so... I want you to be ready, OK?_

Frisk nodded.

_Good people don’t abandon their children._

Frisk’s breath caught in their throat. And then, so abruptly that it surprised themself, they shouted in their hoarse voice:

“They didn’t abandon me!”

They clapped their hands over their mouth, tears springing at their eyes, and pulled themselves tightly into a ball.

* * *

For a moment, the therapist wrote on her clipboard.

“Asriel, can I suggest something?”

He shrugged. “That’s your job, isn’t it?”

“In a way,” she said, and then continued in a voice so gentle it grated on Asriel all the more. “I think I understand. You have a tendency to place people on pedestals.”

Asriel only vaguely understood what that meant, but he still glared at her.

“What I mean is,” she continued, “you’ve always wanted to view only the best in people. It’s not a bad thing. It’s a good thing. And it’s a thing that children do, and you _were_ a child, and you _are_ a child. But it means you aren’t seeing the whole picture, or rather, that the picture is in black and white. You can only see Chara as either good or bad, and you can only see Frisk as purely good, without any faults. Does that make sense?”

Asriel stopped glaring and sunk into the couch. He stuck his paws in the pockets of his hoodie and stared down at the cheap black cushioning.

“Yes.”

“I don’t know Frisk personally, but... if you can’t see the faults in them now, you’re going to be hurt when you finally do. And if you can’t see the good in Chara, you’re going to end up hurting both of you.”

Asriel, in spite of himself, nodded.

“You said that calling Chara a good person was a lie. I don’t think it is.”

“But... they did hurt me,” Asriel mumbled into his hoodie. “They did hurt people. Everything I said was true.”

“And you don’t have to forgive them for that. You don’t have to accept them as part of your life anymore. But... the love you felt for them was real, wasn’t it?”

“It... was.”

“Then the way you felt about them was real too. That they did those horrible things doesn’t change that you cared about them. That there was a part of you that saw good in them, and that was real too.”

“But...” Asriel started to say immediately, but he couldn’t finish the thought. Instead, he groaned and flopped backwards across the couch. “Ugh. I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to have it all figured out now. It’s alright to take some time to process things.”

“I guess.”

“Now, there’s one more thing I want to talk to you about. This Frisk... you heard what I said before, right? About needing to see the flaws in them?”

“Easier said than done,” Asriel sighed. “You know, one time I said they were... the type of friend I wish I’d always had. And I still feel that way.”

“Well, it’s true what they say, Asriel,” said the therapist. “Nobody is perfect. One day, your friend is going to need you, and you’re going to want to be there for them, and if you can’t accept that they’re a person who needs help... it won’t be easy.”

* * *

“You get it now, right?” said Chara, staring at the therapist with their cheek in their hand.

“That’s... quite a story,” said the therapist. “Wow.”

“All true,” said Chara, sarcastically crossing the sign of the cross over their chest.

“Oh, I believe it,” said the therapist. “It’s your _conclusion_ I have problems with. What you’re saying is that... because Frisk had such a horrible childhood, because they were oppressed and almost killed and yet never hurt anyone in retaliation, that makes _you_ a bad person?”

“Nice recap.”

“Well, how’d you put it?” The therapist grinned again. “That’s a load of grade-A bullshit?”

Chara crossed their arms and tapped their foot impatiently. “Uh-huh. Get to your point.”

“When they fell into the Underground, you were with them the entire time?”

“That’s right,” Chara replied, without nodding.

“And you guided them? You led them through that harrowing journey and you showed them the path to take? You helped them to not hurt others?”

Chara paused.

“It really wasn’t me,” they said. “It was Toriel, mostly. She taught them that.”

“Did they listen to Toriel? Or did they listen to _you?_ When things were at their bleakest, who did they have to turn to? Was it Toriel? Or was it you?”

“...Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Chara hissed, burying their face in their hands.

“Am I wrong?”

“I don’t... know. Fuck.”

The therapist grinned.

“Hey,” he said, “that’s progress.” His grin faded, replaced by something more serious. “Besides, it’s not a competition. You both went through some awful, awful things. But you aren’t the same people. It’s normal that you both turned out differently, and it’s not a bad thing that you did some real bad things as a result... especially since you lacked the guidance you yourself gave to Frisk. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“I’m not the worst thing I’ve ever done, huh?” mused Chara.

“Hey, you’re learning!” the therapist said with another smile. “Just remember that. Repeat it to yourself whenever you’re thinking otherwise. I know it sounds like some real hippy-dippy crap, but... it works. I promise.”

Chara let out a sigh. “Alright, alright. I’ll... try.”

* * *

_I’m really sorry, Frisk,_ signed the therapist. _That might have been too much._

Frisk slowly uncoiled themselves from the ball they were in. Their heart was pounding against their chest, and their mind felt unfocused and jittery. They couldn’t help but keep thinking of what the therapist had said about their parents, and the images those words had brought into their mind.

 _It’s... OK,_ Frisk signed slowly, even though it really wasn’t.

 _You really feel strongly about this,_ the therapist signed back. _But let’s work on the origami. We’re almost done._

Frisk nodded and watched as the therapist instructed them on the penultimate steps. Slowly, they repeated the process, and they were glad to note that it actually did make them feel calmer.

 _Frisk,_ signed the therapist.

Frisk looked at them, waiting for them to continue.

_I can clearly see that you loved your parents. But, Frisk... we’re in a safe space here. Nobody’s going to be hurt if you speak honestly and frankly about how you feel._

Frisk stared, confused. They _had_ been speaking honestly about how they felt.

Hadn’t they?

_Do you feel your parents loved you, the same way you loved them?_

Frisk didn’t know how to answer.

_Did they provide you love, or did they provide you just what you needed to survive, and no more?_

Again, Frisk didn’t know how to answer. They put their hands in their lap to keep them from shaking.

_And... Frisk, this is a hard question, but... are you a very forgiving person? What I mean is, when people hurt you, or treat you badly, do you feel you have a tendency to offer them forgiveness?_

Frisk thought carefully about this. And, slowly, they nodded.

_I don’t think that’s a bad thing. Really, it’s a good trait to have - selflessness, forgiveness. But... at the same time, it’s alright to acknowledge when you’ve been hurt. It’s alright to forgive people, but not at the cost of pretending everything is OK, when in your heart you know it isn’t._

* * *

“We’re reaching the end of our appointment, Asriel,” said the therapist.

Asriel stared at the clock, surprised to find himself alarmed rather than relieved. “Already?”

“I’m afraid so,” said the therapist, smiling sadly. “But... let me give you something to think over. And, next appointment, I want you to come back and tell me what you think about it.”

Asriel sat up from where he’d fallen across the couch and stared at her. “Alright.”

“What would you tell Chara if you could speak honestly to them? Consider writing a journal about it, or a letter. Tell them everything you’d tell them if there were no barriers between you, if you weren’t afraid of how they’d respond. And then tear it up, or put it away, or put it through a shredder - whatever feels comfortable.”

Asriel nodded slowly. That sounded completely ridiculous, but... at the same time, it almost sounded cathartic. “Fine. I’ll do that.”

“I think it’ll be more help than you think it will be,” the therapist offered, before standing up. “Now, let’s schedule our next appointment. Does two weeks from now work for you?”

* * *

“Welp, hour’s up. Looks like we’re done here,” said Chara’s therapist, standing up.

“Thank god,” said Chara loudly, standing up as well.

“But don’t worry, I’ve got a little assignment for you, to keep you on your toes,” the therapist continued, grinning. “We’ll talk about it next time you come.”

Chara resisted the urge to groan. “Oh, good. Great. Fantastic.”

“It’s more fun than it sounds. I want you to start a journal. And, every day, I want you to write down at least three good things about yourself. No jokes, no sarcasm... just true, sincere things you like about yourself.”

“What am I, five?”

“Five, fifty, one-thousand,” said the therapist with a shrug. “I think we all need a little reminder of what makes us good people sometimes, no matter how old we are. Anyway, let’s mosey. We’ve got to schedule our next appointment, after all.”

“If I even show up for more of this garbage.”

“Up to you.” The therapist smiled. “But I have a feeling you will.”

* * *

Frisk nodded again, and slowly, began to sign. _But doesn’t everyone deserve a second chance?_

The therapist nodded back. _That’s right. They do. But that doesn’t mean you have to give it to them. That doesn’t mean you have to put their needs above yours. There’s nothing wrong with acknowledging you’ve been hurt, and not forgiving someone who’s done you wrong._

Frisk stared at the ground. Again, they felt tears pinpricking at their eyes, but for a different reason. It was as if there were two conflicting ideas fighting in their mind - the belief that the therapist was right, and the belief that they couldn’t ever apply what the therapist said to the people they had once called their family.

 _I know, it’s difficult,_ signed the therapist. _You should take time to process what I’m saying. How about I give you some homework? Write down what you’d tell your parents if you could speak to them now. You can bring it back to me on our next appointment, or you can keep it to yourself. It’s your choice._

Frisk thought that sounded like a terrible idea. And they weren’t good at writing essays or letters either - their essay to Mettaton had consisted entirely of the word “leg” - which made it sound even worse.

 _OK,_ they signed.

_Now, let’s finish this origami. Final step, and then you can go home._

Frisk nodded, and the therapist started to show them how to fold the final part of the origami crane. The next thing they knew, they were leaving with their origami crane, a slip showing their next scheduled appointment date, and a sticky note reminding them of their homework assignment in their pocket.

They walked out to Toriel’s van, where Asriel and Chara were waiting for them.

“How’d it go?” Asriel asked.

“And, remember, if your therapist’s a piece of shit, tell us,” Chara said, cracking their knuckles. “I’ll take care of it for you.”

“By which they mean, of course,” said Toriel, from the front seat, “that we will find you a new therapist that you like better.”

Frisk smiled and signed at them.

_It was fine._

* * *

_~~Dear~~ Chara,_

_I don’t know if I love you or hate you. I feel like, ever since Alphys made us these bodies, I haven’t known how I feel, and it’s driving me more crazy than I_ already _am._

_I thought, when I met Frisk, that... everything made sense. I had realized the truth, which is that you were a horrible, shitty, awful person, and Frisk was perfect. Frisk wouldn’t take advantage of me like you did. Frisk would treat people better than you did. Frisk wouldn’t try to get me to commit murder like you did._

_But now I think about it and I realize I’m being just as stupid._

_Frisk is a genuinely good person, in spite of everything. But they’re too good for their own good. They pretend to be happy when they’re not. They put themselves last and everyone else first. They want everyone to be happy even when it’s making_ them _miserable. That’s how Frisk is._

_And it’s just as much because they’re traumatized as because you were, isn’t it?_

_I’m traumatized too. That’s what my therapist told me today. And we all respond to trauma differently, but... I think me and you are kind of the same. We’ve both taken our trauma and decided that the world, that our closest friends, that everyone, deserves to suffer because of what we suffered._

_I don’t know if I’m making sense. I don’t really care. What I’m trying to say is that... ~~I forgive you. I don’t forgive you.~~ I don’t know if I forgive you. But I understand you better than I used to._

_Maybe I’ll never love you again. Maybe my love for you is so fucked up now that I’ll always want to kill you instead of kiss you. I don’t know. My brain doesn’t work right anymore._

_But, I want to try to, maybe not love you, but at least be your friend. I want to accept you for who you are, warts and all. I don’t want to abandon you, and I don’t want to pretend I never loved you or that my feelings for you weren’t real._

_Ugh. This really doesn’t make any sense. Whatever._

_Asriel Dreemurr_

* * *

_Three good things about myself, March 31st, 30XX:_

_~~\- I’m super hot.~~ _

~~_\- I tell good jokes._ ~~

~~_\- I’m kind of a badass. Have you seen my knife tricks lately?_ ~~

_Ugh, no, this sucks._

_\- I’m capable of love, and growth, and change. I’m trying to become the kind of person Asriel deserves, despite all the awful shit I did to him._

_\- I helped someone I cared about when they needed it, and it’s because of me that they’re alive and safe._

_\- I’m not really a good person. But I’m learning I’m not the worst thing I’ve ever done either. And that’s progress._

* * *

_Mom, Dad,_

_I hate you. I hate you so much. I always hated you._

_You beat me, and starved me, and yelled at me. You treated me like garbage, and then when you got sick of the garbage, you threw it away and hoped it would rot. I wanted to run away so many times, but I was too scared to. Did you know that? You probably wouldn’t have cared if I did._

_My therapist was right. You gave me what I needed to survive and nothing else. And when you left me at that bus stop, you were probably hoping I’d do something stupid like climb Mt. Ebott and never come back. That’s why you left me so close to it, isn’t it?_

_But I waited hours for you. I don’t know why. Maybe I did love you. Maybe I just thought that, maybe, you loved me, and you weren’t lying to me. I was wrong._

_I know what real love is now. I have a family. I have friends. I’ve had hugs. I’ve even been kissed. I wouldn’t trade any of these people for the world._

_But if I think about it, it’s all because of you, isn’t it? I found these people because you abandoned me in the first place. I found my_ name _because you abandoned me. So I guess I owe you a thank you._

_Thank you._

_But I never want to see you again. And, if I do, I hope my friends are there with me, so I don’t feel scared enough that I don’t say this to your faces:_

_Go to hell._

_I learned those words from Chara. They’re mean, but they’re kind of nice too._

_Goodbye forever,_

_Frisk_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my friends Ivy and Willow for betaing this, and thank you to all the therapists I've had over the years. Be safe everyone ❤


End file.
